


Not Just a River

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Taiga is his best friend, his brother, his rival. That’s plenty; that’s not something worth messing with just because of a few intrusive thoughts.(KNBxNBA)





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy kagahimu 4/10~
> 
> thanks bent for the prompt ('i won't say i'm in love'--i was thinking about the song/movie the entire time i was writing this lmao it was great)

It starts imperceptibly, as much so that Tatsuya can’t say when. He can’t even say when he first notices the warm feeling that settles inside of him when he talks to Taiga on the phone, the urge to curl his toes tighter and speak a little softer that comes with it, the way it makes him notice every little hitch in Taiga’s breath on the other end as the feeling unfurls like cream poured into black coffee, blending itself into the rest of him. It’s a more gentle version of the same thing he feels after one of the few games they play against each other and Taiga hugs him in the hallway between their locker rooms, his hair still wet and his arms always stronger (that’s more like a soft hit somewhere deep inside of Tatsuya, and there’s no need to think about why it makes him not want to let go). It doesn’t seem like enough to say this is just fondness, or even love. It’s a little more complex than that, but things between him and Taiga have always been complicated, nuanced; their relationship (friends, brothers, rivals, all and none at once) doesn’t lend itself to a simple, succinct description, a one-word label. And the emotions on both sides (especially Tatsuya’s) are murky and messy and no matter how long Tatsuya stares at this one, it’s not going to reveal itself as anything so clear (unless—well, no).

The feeling sticks around sometimes, an hour or so after they’re off the phone and Tatsuya’s drifting off to sleep, his fingertips cold above the covers. He thinks about Taiga, probably stuffing his face or watching reality TV (or both) in a hotel on the west coast, pillows pushed to the left side of the bed because he can’t sleep with more than one, and the warmth settles deeper in him, spreading through his fingers when he remembers how soon they’ll see each other again. It’s a little more than a week—they start their trip in a couple of days, hitting up Detroit and Milwaukee right when they’re heating up and then heading to Chicago with the Bulls in the middle of a homestand. Taiga’s excited about Tatsuya’s visit, too; he sounds like it on the phone, a little bit like he’s trying to rein himself in from planning to drag Tatsuya halfway around the city in the few hours between practice and the game (not that Tatsuya ever really ends up minding when he does, but sometimes they both need some rest). And the Knicks have two rest days after that, so they’re staying the extra night in Chicago and Tatsuya can stay over and they can have a little bit of bonus time together that’s not centered around playing against each other.

As soon as he finishes practice, Tatsuya excuses himself and makes his way back to Taiga’s apartment (he still gets lost in Chicago, but the distance from the arena to the train and the train to Taiga’s place he can remember). It’s so good to finally see Taiga, not on the other side of a screen. It’s good to see his mouth up close as he smiles, the way that makes his eyes soften that pixels can’t quite capture.

It’s more than good to be with Taiga, too. Their physical patterns match up the way they always do, passing ingredients for lunch over the island in unspoken synchronicity, their fingertips brushing, the way Tatsuya doesn’t have to ask for Taiga to hand over the salt and the way Taiga’s already getting them water from the tap, glass halfway full of ice for Taiga. It’s in how Tatsuya can hear the smile in Taiga’s voice but looks anyway, the way Taiga leans on his elbow over the table, shortening the physical gap even though neither of them plans on leaving the room until the other does.

They retreat to the living room after that, nominally to play Xbox, but neither one of them is much of a gamer so they give up after about three rounds of some FPS game that Taiga’s actually quite good at.

“My teammates love it,” Taiga says, and despite himself Tatsuya feels pricks of jealousy like needles into his back.

It’s stupid to be jealous of this; he’s got a life outside of Taiga, friends Taiga doesn’t know and might never meet beyond a casual introduction; it’s reasonable to expect Taiga to have the same (more than reasonable, considering Taiga’s been around the league for longer and it’s very difficult for Tatsuya to imagine someone actually getting to know Taiga beyond his blunt, abrupt façade and not liking him). It’s reasonable to expect him to have his friends over often enough to get good at the video games they like, to know how to cook their favorite foods, to establish an actual rapport. It’s not like Tatsuya wants Taiga to be lonely (and it is, on some level, reliving and comforting to know that Taiga has people he can trust in close physical proximity). And it’s not like Taiga has to choose between them and Tatsuya; it’s not like this means he has any less time and affection for Tatsuya. It’s dumb to feel this possessive (what is he, ten?) and it doesn’t make any sense.

“Tatsuya?” Taiga says (fuck, he’s been staring into space again).

“Sorry,” says Tatsuya, flashing a smile at him. “I’m just a little tired.”

“Need a nap?”

Tatsuya yawns; he suddenly feels like he does. Taiga’s hand is on his upper back, between his shoulderblades; he can feel through his sweater the heat of Taiga’s palm and tries not to lean into the touch so blatantly.

“Well,” says Taiga.

“Here’s fine,” says Tatsuya, and he leans back against the cushions. Taiga’s hand settles on his shoulder. He probably shouldn’t be doing this; he shouldn’t give into his urges and be so satisfied that he has Taiga all to himself right now, and he shouldn’t derive so much pleasure from sleeping next to him. Their relationship, as it is, should be more than enough (and in some ways it is, even beyond being more than Tatsuya could ever deserve or hope for). At least he’ll pay for this physically (couches, even this one, are never good to him), if not in the game then when he’s trying to fall asleep on the plane tomorrow. When he wakes up, though, Taiga’s asleep, their bodies folded toward each other, propping each other up like two halves of a pointed arch. Tatsuya feels (slightly, wrongly) vindicated, and it’s enough to put all these stupidly complicated feelings out of his mind for the time being.

The game itself starts out normally, both sides pushing each other back and forth. Tatsuya’s going man-to-man with one of the Bulls’ guards; he’s small and aggressive, plays like he’s a foot taller than he is, but he has a tendency to overcommit and isn’t quite fast enough to snap back sometimes. Tatsuya can get him, and does, passing it over his head or faking a drive enough to get him to lunge to the wrong side. He’s done it three times so far; he can try for a fourth here, and he does; the guard looks like he’s trying to look like he’s committing but Tatsuya’s no fool. He fakes, then fakes harder to the other side, then fakes back and blows through him, toward the net. None of his guys are in the right position to hit a good shot, at least from where he can pass; he’s enough in the clear where he can take it. Tatsuya jumps, and then from the other side Taiga leaps into the air to meet him. Well, fuck.

Taiga’s really got to be part rabbit or something the way he can do that, but blaming genes isn’t enough. He knows the right moment to jump, how exactly to put his hand up and where to be; that’s pure basketball sense, honed into him for fifteen-odd years. He blocks it, and the ball goes down to one of his teammates and the Bulls are back on the attack.

They clash a few more times in the second quarter, but Tatsuya doesn’t get a chance to really get revenge until OT, when the Knicks have built up a six-point lead with three minutes left. It could easily be obliterated, and Taiga looks like he wants to. Not even a second into the Bulls’ possession and he’s streaking down the court with the ball. He slows down when he hits the traffic by the net; he looks like he really wants to try for a dunk that almost breaks the hoop and, well. Taiga’s transparent enough in his intent, but it’s always been fine because even when they know exactly what he’s going to do he’s awfully hard to stop. That doesn’t mean Tatsuya’s not going to try, though. Taiga’s not the one he’s marking, but he’s not going to pass here; Tatsuya cuts away from the near-elbow-to-the-side from his actual mark, through a pair of his own forwards. Taiga goes low; Tatsuya meets his level; he’s about to jump but Tatsuya darts forward, as if to foul him; Taiga ducks back. It’s enough to give him pause, to have to step and have to dribble and he hadn’t planned for it and there’s just enough time for Tatsuya to duck and grab the ball before it hits Taiga’s fingertips. Taiga very nearly fouls him, but Tatsuya throws a pass out and ahead and there’s enough time for the Knicks’ small forward to get in alone and hit a dunk of his own (it’s nowhere near as decisive as Taiga’s would have been, but it doesn’t need to be). And it’s enough of a lead for the Knicks to hold onto.

Taiga cooks him breakfast the next morning, bacon and an omelet packed with vegetables (for someone who eats as much fast food as he does, Taiga sure as hell knows how to follow a nutrition plan and make it taste good when he has to). They read the newspaper and talk; Tatsuya smudges some of the ink with a greasy finger and Taiga laughs it off, looking like he wants to say something else, ducking his head in a way that makes Tatsuya’s chest do something funny. That warm feeling hasn’t left him, not since he got here, not when the Knicks were in a fifteen-point hole last night, not even while he was asleep. It warms his extremities, even when he’s sitting on the couch trying to push back the absolute latest he can meet the rest of the team at the hotel (hell, even at the airport if he has to) and Taiga’s getting ready for some press appearance.

He comes out of the bathroom, face shaven and hair fixed but with a bit of toothpaste on his cheek. He sits down next to Tatsuya, and it would be so easy for Tatsuya to just wipe it off, with his finger or with a tissue, the way he’s done so many times before going back to when they were kids, the way Taiga’s done to him (probably more times), casually and out of habit, but something’s stopping him. It’s that feeling; it’s making him think about it, about Taiga’s face, about how self-conscious this should somehow make him, as if in some way Taiga were a stranger. It’s almost like—and no, Tatsuya does not like where this is going, but he can’t slam the door behind those thoughts fast enough, and they catch him. It’s almost like he has a crush on Taiga. His stomach turns; he can’t unthink that thought or pass it off now; it’s just Taiga but it’s Taiga and he’s more than that.

“What’s up?” says Taiga. “Is there something on my face?”

He’s been staring. Shit.

“You just have…” Tatsuya motions on his own cheek; Taiga spits on his finger and wipes it off. “Yeah, you got it.”

Taiga looks at him, just for a second, and then turns away, back to the infomercial on TV. What does that mean? Taiga’s always been able to read him better than most people, but that thought can’t have shown up on his face like that. It’s just one stupid thought, a willful misinterpretation. Tatsuya’s always been bad at sorting out his feelings; that’s all there is to it.

He still wants to hold on when Taiga hugs him goodbye, keep this feeling with him, keep Taiga with him, kidnap him and take him back to New York. It’s another stupid, irrational thought (they just keep coming). His insides are still twisting on the plane; he stares out the window at the flecked ground below, too far away to distract him. He wants Taiga with him; he wants to be physically close; if this isn’t a crush this is something too much like it. But it’s dumb; it’s just a projection of his fondness for Taiga and those weird possessive feelings combined with the fact that Taiga is a pretty attractive guy (and that’s something Tatsuya really tries not to think about). Taiga’s a great person; Tatsuya wouldn’t blame anyone else for falling for him—not that he’s falling, per se. This is just something transient, a fluke; it’s part of him regressing briefly to being a horny teenager or something.

Tatsuya puts it out of his mind as much as he can, until the next time Taiga calls and he feels his heart beat faster and almost throws the phone across the room after they hang up. It’s pathetic the way he’s psyched himself out by letting himself think weird shit like this. Taiga is his best friend, his brother, his rival. That’s plenty; that’s not something worth messing with just because of a few intrusive thoughts.

Okay, maybe it’s more than a few intrusive thoughts. He’ll be standing in the kitchen and turn around to see the bottle of wine Taiga had bought him that he’s been saving for the next time Taiga’s over and thinks about what it would be like to kiss the sour taste from Taiga’s mouth, how great it would be to bump shoulders and bump glasses and catch each other’s eyes and these fantasies are fucking sick, especially because a decent-sized chunk of him wants to keep going. It’s not like they’ll ever happen; it’s not like he really thinks about Taiga like that.

Except the thoughts keep coming; they don’t let up, like a tireless opponent going into triple-OT in the maybe-deciding game of a playoff series and Tatsuya keeps battling them back but he can never get more than a momentary stalemate. He makes the all-star team; Taiga does too and Tatsuya should be a hell of a lot happier about it than he is. But how is he going to keep those thoughts at bay when Taiga’s around? What if he does something really stupid like trying to kiss Taiga on the middle of the court? (Okay, even if he was truly, wildly head-over-heels for Taiga, he wouldn’t do that. But he could do something stupid that would feel like it had that great a magnitude, something that might be just as bad. Worse.)

He has two strong drinks on the flight to Orlando for the game and manages to fall asleep and not dream about Taiga when his voice is low and thick with sleep, Taiga’s hair all ruffled and messed up when they’re skyping early in the morning, how warm his weight is when he falls asleep on top of Tatsuya. And he keeps on avoiding them right up until Taiga meets him at the baggage claim.

“Hey,” Taiga says, hugging him (quickly, too quickly but not quickly enough) and when he pulls back he keeps his arm around Tatsuya’s shoulders for a little longer.

“Hey,” Tatsuya says, softer.

In spite of all this weird-feeling-shit, it’s good to be here with Taiga; in spite of the way he overthinks it this fond feeling unfurls so nicely inside of him. Taiga oh-so-casually drops his arm back around Tatsuya when they wait at the baggage carousel and leaves it there. It feels like it weighs more than the heaviest sets in the weight room, and Tatsuya’s hyper-conscious of the hair on Taiga’s arm against his neck, the positioning. Of course he does this sometimes; of course they’re physical enough with each other for this to be normal, but Taiga’s not taking it away. Doesn’t he, usually? Does he always touch quite this much? It’s not something Tatsuya’s ever really thought about, not since they first started talking again and both of them were hyperaware of every word and movement around each other. Does it have to be this much? Oh, Tatsuya wants it, but it’s not doing anything to help this mental block, and maybe the dumbest of these thoughts he’s had yet is that Taiga’s doing this more than usual because he wants it, too—not that Tatsuya wants it in the first place.

Taiga grabs the suitcase for him and insists on carrying it, talking the whole way to the rental car about how excited he is for their team this year. The sun is warm on Tatsuya’s face (God, he misses living in LA) and it has nothing to do with how catchy Taiga’s enthusiasm for their temporary team for this meaningless game is (okay, maybe a little to do with that).

Neither of them are starters this year, but it’s fine to start out from the bench and watch Atsushi and Midorima actually play defense (their commitment is admirable, and it gets Taiga even more fired up to get out and do better). They’re subbed in at the same time, the first time they’ve played together in five-on-five since the last FIBA worlds, and they haven’t lost a step of synchronicity. Taiga’s got enough open floor to walk in and dunk, but he passes the ball out to Tatsuya for him to sink a three. Tatsuya might as well return the favor; he waits until Taiga’s in the right position and gives him an alley-oop pass that he slams in, hanging on the rim for a few seconds before dropping off and giving Tatsuya a fist-bump.

It’s only in the game that Tatsuya really stops thinking about it; it’s almost enough to fool him into thinking he’s fixed all of the issues. Even after the game is over, he looks at Taiga and Taiga grins at him and it feels the right kind of stable wonderful. But then they’re posing for photos and Taiga’s pulling him in, his fingers circled around Tatsuya’s forearm.

“Hey, we won!” Taiga says like he almost can’t believe it and in a way it is a little bit surreal, that they’re here having just won the fucking NBA All-Star Game, like they’d imagined as kids (a different conference, different plays, sure, but the same general idea).

But it’s also everything they’ve hoped for, everything Tatsuya’s always believed (or, later, wanted so much to believe).

“Yeah, we did,” Tatsuya says, and he leans into the frame. Taiga drops his wrist, only to oh-so-casually let his arm fall around Tatsuya’s shoulders and all of a sudden Tatsuya’s too aware of his breathing again. He’s making it worse, leaning into Taiga’s touches like he wants it, trying to keep him there.

“Yo, Himuro!”

He turns around; it’s one of his ex-teammates who now plays for the Blazers. Tatsuya tries not to think about Taiga’s hand still on his arm.

“Good game, man,” he says.

“You, too.”

“How are you liking Portland?”

Tatsuya almost misses his answer because Taiga’s leaning into him again, tugging on his hand; Tatsuya’s trying not to let it distract him but it’s not fucking working.

“You look busy, though, huh?” his ex-teammate says, gesturing to Taiga. “We’ll catch up later.”

Tatsuya wants to be mad at Taiga for this but he can’t, really; he’s just mad at himself for being so clearly focused on Taiga when there’s something else going on, so much of his mind taken up by this incredibly stupid thing. It fucking sucks. This is the only extended period of time they’ll get with each other all year, and Tatsuya can’t even really enjoy it because he’s too busy thinking about this. And even if it had started out as nothing, he’s been thinking about it so hard for so long that it’s kind of turned into a crush anyway. A stupid crush he can’t do anything about other than wait out, but a crush regardless, worming away at his insides.

Waiting it out isn’t much of a plan, but it’s something, and maybe putting a name to this kind of feeling is better for that. In the abstract, it seems like it might be, and it works while they’re together, but as soon as Tatsuya’s back on the road it gets worse again. He can’t banish his invasive thoughts quite so quickly; the defense that this isn’t a real crush and these aren’t real feelings doesn’t work anymore and he gets caught up in thinking about the way Taiga’s hands would feel if they’d stay on his face, the way Taiga would taste, the way Taiga would say things if he’d felt the same way (which, Tatsuya reminds himself, he doesn’t). That, Taiga’s own lack of romantic feeling, is Tatsuya’s last real line of defense, the thing that makes him push back the feelings just enough.

The Bulls are coming to New York sooner than Tatsuya had realized; he wants to see Taiga but there hasn’t been enough time for him to deal with this ridiculous crush and make it go away. It’s already amazing to him that Taiga hasn’t called him on it, told him that he knows it’s going to be difficult but to please try, that maybe they should take a break from each other until he does (Taiga wouldn’t say it, even if it was what he wanted, though; even if it was the best thing to do—it’s the kind of thing Tatsuya would have to make himself to suggest, will have to if he can’t stuff all of this away and hide it well enough for the duration of Taiga’s visit).

The first night goes well enough; Taiga’s too jet-lagged to do anything other than eat and go to sleep; he’s trying to be less grumpy but mostly failing (and still, Tatsuya finds that more than a little bit cute). At least he’s probably too tired to notice how awkward Tatsuya feels, the way he has to stop himself from reacting to Taiga’s looks and touches, the way Tatsuya hugs him goodnight for a little bit too long.

Or maybe he notices anyway. He seems a little distant, a little bit wary at breakfast; he peers at Tatsuya over the newspaper and eats his toast slowly, like he’s looking for something in the bread. Tatsuya knows he should say something, but if this is something else (and it could be; there’s always the slight possibility that he thinks he’s going to be traded, or maybe his dad’s sick or he made a bad investment and doesn’t want to admit it, or any other number of things that are bad but in a different way) he doesn’t want to jump the gun. But this tension can’t continue, this feeling that he wants to jump out of his feet every time Taiga looks up at him.

Taiga breaks first.

“Tatsuya,” he says.

He looks serious, like he knows (the way he’s always been able to slip under Tatsuya’s defenses and read him better than anyone) and he’s trying to formulate a way to say he doesn’t want that or he’s noticed the awkwardness and he’s going to ask why, dig deep and get Tatsuya to say it out loud and straight up.

“Yes?” says Tatsuya.

“I,” says Taiga, and then he frowns.

The sputtering of the radiator and the sound of rain against the gutters rise over the sound of their breathing, and Taiga’s expression returns to a resting ambivalence Tatsuya can’t see past.

“Tatsuya,” he starts again. “I know I’ve been acting kind of different and it’s just. It’s not anything you’re doing and I’m not mad at you and it’s really only because I feel differently. Toward you, in a positive way. Like—I want to be your boyfriend.”

This doesn’t seem like he could have misinterpreted it; Taiga saying he wants to be his boyfriend is so solidly everything Tatsuya hasn’t let himself hope for, and yet—maybe he’d misheard it; maybe he’d wanted so much he’d been listening to his own thoughts and letting his mind superimpose those words when Taiga had really been saying that he knows Tatsuya wants to be his boyfriend, that he knows and they’ll try to work through it or something. But it’s so plain and clear and obvious that he can’t ask Taiga to repeat himself. Taiga’s looking at him, trying to gauge his reaction, and Tatsuya’s not sure what he sees that makes Taiga step a little bit closer. And then he’s kissing Tatsuya, and it’s everything Tatsuya’s been trying to stop himself from imagining, soft and slow and then Taiga’s hand is in his hair and Tatsuya can’t stop himself from letting out a tiny sigh. Worse, he’s kissing Taiga back and he’s not trying to stop himself at all (but this is too vivid for a dream and if this is the only kiss they ever get Tatsuya’s damn well going to enjoy it).

When Taiga pulls back, his hand stays in Tatsuya’s hand a little bit longer before it drops back to his side. Tatsuya still hasn’t said anything, and from this close he can see Taiga bite the inside of his lip.

“I mean…I thought, maybe, you want this, too?”

“You want to be my boyfriend,” says Tatsuya.

Taiga nods. “If you need some time to think about it, like—when I’m at practice, or longer, or whatever, it’s okay. I know this is big.”

Tatsuya (God help him) reaches for Taiga’s hand, his thumb fitting up against Taiga’s much-larger, his fingers forming a small clasp.

“I will,” Tatsuya says. “I’ll think about it.”

It makes him wonder if he’s implied more, if he’s promised more than he’s capable of delivering on, when Taiga’s face breaks into a smile and he squeezes Tatsuya’s hand back.

“Okay.”

The problem with time to think is that it gives Tatsuya time to think himself into a corner. Couldn’t he have just said yes, because this is what he wants? Does his hesitation mean that somewhere he knows he’s not ready for it or doesn’t really want it? Does Taiga’s offer of giving him that time mean he doesn’t really want it? (But no, that’s impossible; Taiga wouldn’t lie or fool himself about something like this—it’s more likely he wants it but he senses Tatsuya’s mixed bag of feelings and is giving himself time to let himself down easy, not forcing Tatsuya into making the knee-jerk wrong choice. But if he hadn’t been given time, would Tatsuya have said yes?) Does Tatsuya even want to say yes? He would have, maybe, said no; he’s been denying himself these feelings and wants for long enough, but all that denial has been contingent on his solid belief that Taiga doesn’t want this; it’s the thing that’s backed up every one of his self-rebuttals and now that the bottom line’s fallen away all of Tatsuya’s arguments are crumbling. He wants this; Taiga wants this; they’d both try to make it work.

But what if he says no? What if things don’t work out? It’s not so much a what-if extreme hypothetical as it is dredging up the worst time in Tatsuya’s life again, the years of trying not to think about Taiga at all and wondering if when they met again Taiga would greet him as a stranger or as somebody he used to know and kept in the past, the years the ring around his neck choked him and weighed him down even when he’d touched it ten times a day for luck, out of habit, to make sure it hadn’t vanished on him. He can’t say no if that’s going to happen (Taiga wouldn’t want to let it, but would it anyway?) but he can’t say yes just to stop that. Taiga doesn’t deserve that. And he can’t say yes with the dread of that future, of growing tired of each other, growing to hate each other despite how this should bring them closer, of cracking under the pressure of a long-distance relationship, so clear in his mind.

But he really doesn’t want to say no, either.

He can hear Alex’s voice in his head, like so long ago, telling him to just talk to Taiga about it, and that would be good if Taiga didn’t still have half an hour of practice and time to get home on top of that. But shit, Alex—how are they going to tell Alex? (If, Tatsuya reminds himself, if he says yes.) What are they going to tell her? Who else are they going to tell? Where are they going to live in the offseason? Would Taiga expect him to move to Chicago? Sign with the Bulls? (It’s an entirely stupid question, which Tatsuya knows as soon as he thinks it—but still, it’s not unreasonable to want to live in the same place as your significant other, and Tatsuya would never expect Taiga to come here, as welcome as that would be.)

Tatsuya walks to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and stares in at the collection of leftovers. He’s getting ahead of himself; these are only going to come up if he says yes, and after that; they’re things he needs to discuss with Taiga as they come up. Though, what comes next? That is valid; they’re going to have to tell people (maybe not at first, but they’re going to have to decide to do that or not) and they’re going to have to work out some arrangement while they’re both traveling the country from different base locations, and, well. At a certain point this has all stopped being hypothetical and started being definitive.

Taiga’s definitely anticipating when he gets back from practice, wiping down his rain-soaked hair with the sleeve of his hoodie while he browses the fridge for a can of seltzer and looking at Tatsuya like he doesn’t want to ask, like when they were kids and he’d been pestering Tatsuya about some fast-food place where he knew Tatsuya would buy him an extra burger if he gave him the pickles.

“How was practice?” Tatsuya says.

“Oh,” says Taiga. “Good.”

He pauses, like he wants to ask.

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya. “We should talk.”

He’s leaning on his elbows on the island; Taiga sits down across from him on the stool and looks up, squarely at Tatsuya’s face.

“What if we try dating and it doesn’t work?” says Tatsuya. “What if we just can’t be that way? What if we end up hating each other?”

It sounds so stupid and juvenile like this, but that doesn’t make the weight of those concerns decrease any.

“Well,” says Taiga. “I don’t know how you felt, or how you would feel, but even when we fought before I never hated you. I was angry with you, and really sad, but I never came close to hating you and I don’t think I could. I mean, even if—and I hope we try this and that it works out, but even if it doesn’t, I’m not going to stop loving you. You’re not going to stop being family, Tatsuya.”

Tatsuya’s not sure when his vision starts to blur, only that when he notices it it’s too late and he’s already crying, folding his hands against his elbows and dropping his chin. He feels his shoulders shake involuntarily, and it’s not that he hadn’t known this, sort of. He’d have to be stupid to think anything less than that would make Taiga take him back as a friend in the first place, but he’s never really thought about it in those terms, never really realized Taiga thought about it that way.

Taiga’s hand twitches. “Can I?”

Tatsuya leans over; it’s not going to do much good because he’s probably going to keep crying but he wants Taiga to touch him right now. Taiga brings up his hand to wipe the tears off of Tatsuya’s cheek; it’s still a little cold from being out in the rain but the softness of his skin feels good and Tatsuya lets himself lean into the touch more.

“Can I kiss you?” Taiga says.

“You didn’t ask before,” says Tatsuya.

“It’s because I was afraid you’d say no if I did.”

Tatsuya leans over the rest of the way and kisses Taiga first; he hadn’t really thought Taiga had doubted that much, even if not to the same extent or in the same way that Tatsuya had (not that it’s a competition) and he wants, needs, to reassure him that he means it. And if this is how Taiga feels about reassuring him, he’s not going to say no anyway but this seals the envelope with reinforced steel rivets.

“Yes,” Tatsuya says, vision still way too fucking blurry. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Taiga cups his face in both hands and kisses him properly, without hesitation this time. They still have so much to work out, to talk about, but this is a damn good start.

**Author's Note:**

> writing this was kinda pulling teeth part of the way...i still feel like there's too much telling/not enough telling, not enough dialogue, pieces don't fit together quite the way i want them to but looking at it for longer won't solve that so, lmao please feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
